End of Red John Start of a New Life - Part I
by LouiseKurylo
Summary: AU: Different end to Red John, tying up more clues. The CBI isn't destroyed. Life continues without an exile for Jane. Story picks up at the end of The Great Red Dragon episode. How is Red John ID'd? Why is he obsessed with Jane? What happens to the CBI, Lisbon's team, and each person of that team? / I do not own The Mentalist and reap no economic benefits from this story.
1. Chapter 1-Blake Association and FBI

**End of Red John / Start of a New Life - Part I  
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**Who:** CBI team

**What**: AU version of the end of Red John

**When:** Just after The Great Red Dragon episode, S6, E7 - right before the series Red John episode

**Where:** Sacramento and environs

**Why: Alternate version of the end of Red John that accounts for more clues and takes them forward with the CBI intact and no 2-year exile for Jane**

**Disclaimer:** I obviously own nothing of the Mentalist series, scripts, characters, etc.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: Blake Association and FBI<strong>

"May I have your attention, please? Put down your phones and step away from your desks. _Now_," said an unknown, burly, black man in a black suit. His voice wasn't loud, but it rang with practiced authority. It carried across the whole fifth floor of the CBI building.

"I'm Special Agent in Charge Teresa Lisbon. Who the hell are you?" challenged Lisbon, stepping forward to confront the man, the tiny woman somehow an equal presence to the tall, bulky man.

"FBI Supervisory Agent Dennis Abbott. Now I repeat, stand up and step away from your desks." His gratuitous, "Please," was more insult than request.

"We're in the middle of a manhunt for a dangerous fugitive. Now if you would like to assist–"

"CBI Director Gale Bertram, head of this _alleged_ law enforcement organization, is a murderer and a member of a massive criminal conspiracy, the Blake Association," responded Abbott offensively.

"A conspiracy _my_ team uncovered. A conspiracy which includes FBI agents."

"Yes, and that's why the bureau sent me here from the Austin, Texas, office. To clean up the mess. I am holding in my hand a writ from a federal judge and a letter from the governor of California requesting the FBI's help. The FBI is taking charge of the Blake Association investigation immediately. All of you are on immediate paid leave for the rest of this week until my agents secure all - and I do mean ALL - records and material relevant to the Blake Association investigation. You may remove nothing other than personal possessions from the premises. All effects will be searched on your way out."

Lisbon stepped out of the bullpen and called the governor's office to verify Abbott's claims.

"You can't do that," objected Van Pelt hotly to Abbott.

"I'm here to collect evidence. Don't get in my way," Abbott dismissed her as an apparently unimportant annoyance. He turned away and raised his voice as he gave orders to his FBI agents. "Let's go to work, fellas."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. What's going on here?" challenged Jane, coming from the break room with tea. After finding two relevant files on Jane's couch, FBI staff had moved the couch and removed the cushions, searching for more files.

"Dennis Abbott, FBI. You must be Patrick Jane."

Lisbon was back in the bullpen after having confirmed Abbott's authority. "They've taken over the Blake Association investigation. Everyone has paid leave for the week while the FBI seizes all our files and evidence," explained Lisbon grimly.

"We're gonna need to interview you at some point, but it can wait. We're gonna be here for some time. Just don't leave town."

"We have a killer to catch," protested Jane.

"Oh, well, that's our problem now. You had your chance to catch him and you blew it‑‑ if you were really trying."

Jane stood stock still for a moment, expressionless. He handed his cup and saucer to Abbott – who, surprised, accepted it without thinking, - turned and walked to the stairs to his attic work space. He was barred by an FBI agent. Jane pivoted and stepped toward the elevators, joining the tail end of the crowd of CBI employees being herded out of the building. Elevator full, he and Lisbon moved to the side while they waited for the next elevator car.

_Sotto voce_, "What now?" asked Lisbon.

"I don't know," Jane responded, voice equally soft.

"Van Pelt found some coded files in Bertram's flash drive. Should we get started on those?"

"Van Pelt can work on them. Might be useful on Red John. But we're done with the Blake Association. There's nothing more to do here. Just go home, get some rest."

"You're not quitting. I don't believe it."

"No, I'm not quitting. Uh, I'm letting go. Blake Association is out of our hands. I need to think."

"Where will you be?"

"My apartment. Look, can I come over to your place tomorrow morning? I have some ideas."

"All right." Lisbon searched his face anxiously, "You okay? I mean, this was our big break on Red John–"

"-I'm okay. Listen, I'm sorry this is messing with your position, your team, Lisbon."

She let out her breath, not even realizing she had been holding it. "Bertram. Bertram is the SOB here. Can't blame the governor for calling in the cavalry when the CBI director is big time dirty."

"I–I need to finish working some things out, but I think it will be okay, Lisbon. Tomorrow."

They both boarded the elevator going down. The elevator was too crowded for more conversation.

~.~.~.~

Ten minutes after he called, Jane appeared at Lisbon's townhouse mid-morning, bringing a latte, tea, and sweet rolls with him. She welcomed him in, being at loose ends with the sudden abundance of time on what would ordinarily be a work day. Jane put the food on the kitchen table and both got out plates and spoons to stir their drinks. Lisbon surreptitiously looked him over: Two-day stubble, dark circles under his eyes, and still coughing from smoke and dust inhaled during the explosion. _We need to finish this before it finishes him. The FBI will only gum things up worse than they already are. What the hell is our next move?_

Surprisingly, Jane refused to discuss anything related to the Blake Association or Red John as they ate. He did listen eagerly as Lisbon filled him in on what she had heard about the FBI's doings at the CBI. His only comment was that involving the FBI from another state office might not be a bad thing. He suggested walking to the subdivision's little park after they finished eating. He insisted they leave their phones behind. She fidgeted impatiently as Jane leisurely strolled to the gazebo, hand lightly on the small of her back to shepherd her along. They sank onto the bench lining the gazebo perimeter.

"Okay, Jane. We were hot on the trail of Red John and you're acting like we should just take a vacation. What's going on?"

"The FBI intervention may be the best thing that could happen, Teresa. I did some thinking since we left the CBI yesterday."

She gave him a searching look. "You must have. You sure didn't get any sleep. To repeat, what's going on?"

He licked his lips, gazing absently across the small park. Turning back to face her, "Blake Association isn't Red John."

"What?!"

"The Blake Association is a Red John enemy, opponent – whatever you want to call it."

"What about Bertram? –My God, we accused an innocent man of being Red John in that press conference!"

"Bertram's far from innocent. He's Blake Association – the head, or high up, anyway. But he's not Red John."

"Then why did you accuse him?"

"Bertram needs to be stopped. While the FBI's chasing him, we continue hunting Red John without interference. And, believing everyone thinks Bertram is Red John, maybe Red John gets careless."

"Did you engineer the FBI coming in?"

"No. But I rather expected it. You heard what Smith said. The Blake Association is huge, many jurisdictions, many levels of law enforcement. I wouldn't be surprised if the corruption extends to other states. The FBI is better positioned to do all the leg work."

A bit bitterly, "Still, it pisses me off how it was handled. We could have worked with them instead of being shoved aside."

"Lisbon, having the FBI take lead on Blake frees us up to focus on Red John. I repeat, they are not the same."

"So, what are you thinking, what next?"

"We need to get the team together. I think our phones are bugged, so I bought several burner phones on my way here–"

"–That's why you insisted we leave our phones at the townhouse?"

"Yes. It's okay to call and check on where they are, but we need to physically tell them the meeting time and location. And give them each a burner phone. I'll go talk to Cho–"

"I'll get Rigsby and Van Pelt, since they're probably together anyhow."

"River Park by the fountain at 1 p.m. Use a burner phone to call if that time or place won't work. Leave your regular cell phone in the car when you talk to the team. Treat it like an open mic." Lisbon frowned at his apparent paranoia, then assumed he had good reason.

~.~.~.~

The five met as planned at 1 p.m. The splash of water from the fountain provided pleasant background noise as they sat around a picnic table on the fine summer afternoon. Not coincidentally, the noise also would interfere with any attempts to eavesdrop.

"To begin, do you have your phone with you?" opened Jane.

All responded that they did not. Rigsby asked, "Why, Jane? Our CBI phones are checked weekly for bugs."

"Van Pelt, maybe you're better able to answer that."

"Cell phones can be rigged to act like microphones, even when you're not using them. It's not exactly a bug, it's programming. I've never done it, but I know it _can_ be done. Why do you think that's the case, Jane?"

"As you all now know, Red John knew my list of seven suspects the same day I finished figuring it out. The Carson Springs Child Protective Services director, Miriam Gottleib, gave me a DVD from Red John. On it, Lorelei Martins listed the seven suspects I came up with." Looking at Lisbon, "I knew it was a trick. I finally figured out how it was done." Lisbon brightened, relieved that Jane could at last put that puzzle to rest. Jane added with a ghost of a smile, "No 'psychic' powers required." She smiled in return.

"Lisbon, I told you Bertram was a suspect when we investigated Eileen Turner's murder. Then, we tricked Roddy Turner and Sean Barlow to get Gottleib to lead us to the baby. I told you the rest of my list on theway. Red John used either your phone or mine to listen in."

Lisbon objected immediately, "But the DVD was made while Lorelei Martins was alive – months earlier."

"Not necessarily. I think Red John videotaped Lorelei reading the names of dozens of possible suspects before he killed her."

"How would he know which ones?"

"I work in a fishbowl, Lisbon. The CBI attic windows give anyone with a telescope a clear view of my Red John crime board."

"Then why-"

Cho answered, "You were using that to reel Red John in, weren't you?"

Jane nodded. "Red John knows who he is, so I'm not keeping that secret from him. By revealing my last few dozen suspects I get to see if anyone starts acting differently."

"So how did Red John do that disk?"

"It was mid-afternoon when I told you my final seven suspects, just before we discovered Gottleib's role in stealing the baby. It took Red John a couple of hours to create the DVD using those recorded clips. Lisbon, if you recall, the recording broke away to a picture each time she mentioned a name. No continuity. It would be easy to assemble that DVD from clips. Then he gave it to Gottleib to give to us. She didn't get to the house where the baby was till late at night. There was plenty of time for Red John to create his DVD and give it to Gottleib before she appeared late that night."

Van Pelt interjected, "If that's true, Red John has some very sophisticated electronic and computer abilities."

Rigsby jumped in, "You're right. And that's not news. Red John had access to the internal CBI computer system to send us messages in the Renfrew and Panzer cases."

"And," Lisbon added with a shudder, "he had no trouble identifying the traces we put on the suspects' phones. These examples suggest some pretty impressive abilities."

Jane broke in. "Listen, gang, my biggest realization is that Red John is not part of the Blake Association–"

"–But the three red dot tattoo that Kira Tinsley saw?" Cho started.

"A false lead set up by Red John. Since when does Red John leave victims alive? How could she accidentally have seen that tattoo? And most telling, why would a malignant, megalomaniac narcissist ever brand himself the same as his underlings? –Look. Red John told me 'Tyger, Tyger' when he killed Dylan and Ruth, the Red John copycat killers, just after he took Kristina Frye. If the Blake Association was Red John's organization or even an ally, why would he give me a clue that it exists?"

Lisbon asked, "Jane, what about Smith? He said the Blake Association told him to provide FBI credentials for a Red John supporter. That person then got into the CBI and poisoned Rebecca Anderson so we couldn't question her about killing Bosco and his team. Red John and Blake were working together?"

"Red John just needed the code words. All assignments were done by phone. Red John could have called a Blake member and gotten them to do it just by knowing the code. Also, I'm not sure those credentials were connected to poisoning Rebecca Anderson. I doubt Red John would have talked about _why_ he needed them to Smith."

Cho interrupted, "Jane, where does all that leave us about Red John?"

"Ah, glad you asked. More evidence suggesting Red John enmity for Blake. Doesn't it strike you odd that four of my list of seven were Blake Association, as shown by the red dots? If Red John arranged for us to discover the red dot tattoo, we end up dismantling the corrupt Blake Association, perhaps doing Red John the favor of eliminating a threat. Patridge, McAllister, Bertram and Smith. Patridge was Blake–"

"He said 'tyger, tyger' before he died when I was in that abandoned house," Lisbon recalled.

Cho added, "And that skinned area on his shoulder at the morgue suggests there was a Blake tattoo that someone wanted hidden."

"Bertram has the tattoo and, thanks to my accusation, is on the run as Red John. But he's probably just a high up member of Blake. Then there's Smith, an admitted Blake member. And McAllister had the tattoo as well. He died in the explosion at my Malibu house."

Rigsby frowned. "But then there's no one left. Smith admitted he killed Kirkland. And Stiles and Haffner also died in the explosion. Jane, what if Red John isn't among your list of seven?"

Grimly, "Red John's on it. Someone who we think is dead...isn't. Here. We know the disposition of four of the seven. Cho can confirm Partridge is dead. Smith admitted he killed Kirkland, so he is definitely dead. Smith is in the Sacramento jail. And Bertram's on the run, with confirmed sightings and killings. That leaves the three supposedly killed in the explosion in Malibu – McAllister, Stiles, and Haffner-"

Cho interrupted, "All three were positively ID'd as dead from DNA evidence."

"Faked. Some or all. Had to be. Each is either Blake or Visualize. Both organizations have the reach and money to arrange false data. So, the question is, which of those three is Red John."

Lisbon broke the silence, "So, which one is it?"

Jane shook his head, "I have my guess, but we need to check it out. I was wrong with Timothy Carter. I can't be wrong again." Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt exchanged glances, glad Jane's priority was to make sure. The stakes were immeasurably greater now that all five had reluctantly come to agree that a dead Red John was the best solution, even if that meant pushing the boundaries a little...or more.

"We are handicapped till next week when we can get back into the CBI," reminded Lisbon.

Jane shrugged. "We should do as much as we can till then. We need to do everything we can to determine if one or more of those three is still alive."

Lisbon organized the immediate work. "Cho, Rigsby, see if you can find any signs that Haffner, McAllister or Stiles might be alive. Check their homes, work, and any other likely places. Van Pelt, do you have any kind of computer access that might tell us whether our phones were compromised and who might have done it?" When Van Pelt nodded, Lisbon went on, "Then do as much as you can with that. When you hit a roadblock, help Cho and Rigsby see who might still be alive."

"I left back door access to my work computer. It's against regs, but I can use it from home to do background research on Stiles, McAllister and Haffner."

Jane added, "Cho, did we ever get the results of those DNA analyses I asked for a few weeks ago?"

"No, but they should be available about now."

Lisbon asked, "Call forensics. I hear the FBI is done with Forensics and they're back to work. Call and find out." She glanced quizzically at Jane, this being the first she had heard of his DNA request.

"Okay, use the burner phones to call when you find out anything. And, if our regular cells can act like microphones, make sure you are _not_ in earshot-"

Van Pelt suggested, "Put it in a ziplock baggie in the refrigerator. Won't hurt the phone and that's pretty foolproof to be sure nothing is overheard."

Lisbon continued, "But you'll still have to use the regular cell occasionally so we don't tip off the fact we know they're compromised. Questions?"

"No boss" they answered in unison. The group broke up and left, with only Lisbon and Jane staying behind.

Lack of sleep and the explosion's after effects catching up with him, Jane slumped, eyes closed momentarily. Lisbon rubbed his shoulder. "Jane," she said softly, "there's something more, isn't there?"

After a moment, "Maybe. Remember what we were talking about after the Minelli dinner?"

"Yeah."

"Some of that might be part of the puzzle."

"So who do you think?"

"Too soon to say. Let's wait for the guys to do their work."

Lisbon sat back, "Well, then let me guess. Stiles is pushing 70. That's pretty old to be carrying out brutal, physically taxing murders. He also has a world-wide cult to run. I'd guess it's not Stiles." She paused, but Jane offered nothing.

She continued. "McAllister? Uh, possible but unlikely. At 51 he's just barely young enough to be working on the Elliston farm when the first Red John murders were done at the red barn. But I just can't see him as Lorelei's lover, or sharing tea and Bach insights with Rosalind. Red John must be a terrific liar, but if I had to guess, McAllister just doesn't seem like he has the right personality. Also, how does a sheriff way out in Napa have the resources and freedom of movement to get to Tijuana to kill Renfrew? Or Malibu to kill your family – especially on short notice? How does he get inside CBI without someone questioning his presence? And you said he had the three red dot tattoo – not consistent with Red John's unbounded sense of superiority, of being unequaled. So, not McAllister."

Lisbon stopped for over a minute. Jane remained quiet, eyes closed, but clearly listening as he tilted his head in her direction. She finally continued. "Unless you're wrong, unless Red John isn't one of your seven suspects, that leaves Haffner. Right age. Physically strong. Credible lover for Lorelei and Rosalind. Familiar face in the FBI and CBI. Visualize connections and money. Hell, he's a specialist in electronics and surveillance, meaning computers, too." She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. "God, Jane. That's chilling. I used to _like_ Haffner..."

Jane roused himself enough to comment quietly, "Which speaks to his charisma, his ability to attract devoted followers. And lovers."

Lisbon turned her head, suddenly nauseous. "We _have to_ be sure. And we _have to_ finish this."

"Yeah." After a few moments, "I have some stuff I should do, Lisbon."

She took his arm, "I think some sleep on my couch might be a better idea. Come on, Jane. You're dead on your feet and still recovering. Can it wait?"

"Okay. A couple of hours." They walked back to her car and drove back to her townhouse.


	2. Chapter 2 - Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt

**Chapter 2: Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt**

**Rigsby and Cho**

Cho and Rigsby decided to tackle McAllister first. Although Napa County was a drive, they were far more likely to get information about McAllister than anything on Stiles or Haffner from Visualize. Useful information finally surfaced after speaking with several Napa County PD officers. It was a small bit but, as Jane so often brilliantly demonstrated, the small pieces eventually add up to a definitive conclusion, a complete picture.

"Officer Dunmar? CBI. I'm Agent Cho, this is Agent Rigsby. If you can spare a few minutes, we're investigating the death of Sheriff Thomas McAllister."

"Sure, glad to help. Anything I can do to help catch Tom's killer. Killed in an explosion in Malibu of all places. Helluva way to go."

"We think his death may be connected to a larger matter. Right now, we need background information about Sheriff McAllister to try to connect his whereabouts with the murderer in another case."

Fifteen minutes into the interview, Cho pressed, trying to determine whether McAllister had alibis for some of the recent Red John murders. "So Sheriff McAllister was injured from a hunting accident on that date?"

"Yeah."

"There wasn't any mention of that in his medical records," Rigsby noted.

"Uh, Tom kept it out of his file. See, getting shot was a hunting accident. His hunting buddy was using an unregistered rifle and it would have looked bad because he was law enforcement. Big stink and a black mark on his record."

"Sheriff McAllister was on sick leave during that week, but is there any chance he could have been in Nevada the following Saturday?"

"Nah, he could barely hobble around his house with that leg wound. Sorry to kill your lead, but it doesn't fit."

"Thank you for your time."

"Hope you catch the bastard!" Dunmar called to their backs as they left the station.

"We do, too," answered Cho, not bothering to clarify the particular "bastard" of interest.

~.~.~.~

They left Napa County on the long drive back to Sacramento.

"Without a face-to-face, Jane wouldn't know McAllister was wounded when Red John murdered the TV news woman who interviewed Kristina Frye," hazarded Cho.

"It never made the news and never appeared in McAllister's records," agreed Rigsby. "Jane ruled out men who couldn't be at all of Red John's kills. That rules out McAllister as Red John."

"McAllistger had the tattoo. He was Blake Association. Looks like Jane is right about Blake being separate from Red John."

"Boss said Jane recalled over two-thousand people he's met since his family's murder. Can you believe that?!"

"Only because it's Jane," replied Cho shortly.

"What do you think of Jane's approach?"

"I'll know what to think when we get Red John."

"Come on, Cho."

Cho sighed. "I guess it makes sense to start with everyone who is at all a possibility, then eliminate people only when there's a specific reason. I don't think it's foolproof. Just that we don't have a better approach."

"What if Red John wasn't there at every killing?"

"Then it falls apart. We're screwed."

"If you had to bet?"

"I'd bet Jane correctly reads Red John's personality. It _feels_ right that Red John wouldn't let underlings use his mark, muck up his 'artistic' kill. Sick, but probably right."

~.~.~.~

Cho and Rigsby spent Wednesday and Thursday trying to track down any sign of Stiles and Haffner. They got no useful information. Jason Cooper, Stiles's number two in Visualize, turned them away without revealing anything. Stiles had no tangible property, residence, or business office except Visualize. And, since the explosion, there was no hint of Haffner's presence at any of his normal locations and no contacts with his friends or colleagues. Haffner had no known family.

**Van Pelt**

Van Pelt spent her week communing with her computer. Actually, with several of them. She first confirmed Jane's suspicion that their official CBI cell phones had been programmed to serve as open mics. She couldn't determine who did it or even when. She then turned to background research. After Rigsby called with their conclusion about McAllister, she focused on Stiles and Haffner. Eyes gritty from too many hours staring at computer screens, it was Thursday before Van Pelt found information that could help ID Red John.

In his 70 years, Stiles had led an interesting life. The team already knew something about Stiles from past cases, but she was able to fill in more of the time-line back to the early '70's. By age 31, Stiles was connected to Visualize shortly after its founding by Timothy Farragut in 1973. After Farragut died in a car crash in 1976, Stiles seized the leadership of Visualize and kept it for all 37 years to the present. The inevitable suspicions faded when proof of foul play in Farragut's death failed to materialize. New suspicions weren't even aroused when the investigating sheriff died several years later. Of course, by then Stiles was firmly in charge of the growing, increasingly powerful Visualize cult.

Under the deft, charismatic, ruthless leadership of Bret Stiles, Visualize grew from a gauzy, hippie spiritual movement in Southern California to an international cult with the gilding of an officially recognized religion. Millions of followers conferred financial and political power. And then there were the shadowy charges – never substantiated – of tax fraud, smuggling, drug dealing, gun running, and other organized criminal pursuits. By then, Visualize was well able to take care of itself. Attorneys, accountants, tax attorneys, and a growing cadre of politicians all had a stake in protecting its assets, reputation, and influence.

Unfortunately, the trail into the historical Mr. Stiles dead‑ended in the early '70's. Van Pelt managed to find a grainy newspaper photograph of Stiles from 1973. This would help if they used facial recognition software to probe further back. Software that approximated a person's appearance as he aged - or when he was younger - naturally tended to be more accurate the shorter the time that needed to be extrapolated. Stiles had emigrated from the UK. Why, or what he did before Visualize remained a mystery. A cursory search for information linked to "Bret Stiles" yielded nothing. Van Pelt concluded that either Stiles had led a _very_ private, low-key life before 1970. Or, more likely, Stiles had lived under another name.

Van Pelt had better success with Haffner. Working backward, Raymond Haffner – now 46 – founded his own detective agency in 2012 and served Visualize and other important, well-heeled clients. This followed his four-year stint as a CBI serious crimes unit leader from 2008 to 2012. His CBI reputation and career never recovered after Jane humiliated him and Bertram on the Kuzmenko murder case. Before that, he was an agent with the FBI from 1998 to 2008, specializing in creative electronic surveillance directed at organized crime. He had started in law enforcement in 1990 as a clerk in the Sacramento PD. He finished his college degree part-time and became an officer in 1994 as part of that year's crop of police academy graduates. His Visualize connections were hinted at even then, because he was a special liaison to Visualize for SacPD. Van Pelt hit pay dirt when she found Haffner had gotten a GED through the Carson Springs Child Protective Services program. What she found when she checked further caused her to pack up her laptop and make an in-person visit to Lisbon. She was all too aware that calls from cell phones – even burner cell phones – were easily intercepted using the right equipment. She and Lisbon had a lovely and illuminating lunch outdoors at a secluded table near a noisy fountain.

~.~.~.~

"So what warrants seeing me in person?" Lisbon opened.

"I confirmed Jane's hunch that our CBI cell phones have been turned into open mics. I can't tell who did it or when."

"What else?" Lisbon asked, knowing that wasn't what brought Grace there.

Van Pelt's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Boss, Haffner is connected to the Carson Springs Child Protective Services. At first I couldn't find any record of Haffner there, but I kept digging. I couldn't see any reason why he'd get a GED through the Carson Springs CPS otherwise. It turns out he changed his name when he was 16 from Hafenmaier to Haffner."

"Why?"

"Raymond Hafenmaier was 13 when his mother was brutally murdered. She had multiple stab wounds and her throat was cut."

Lisbon closed her eyes, simultaneously excited and repulsed. Rapt, she whispered the obvious question, "Was the killer ever found?"

"No. No one was ever charged. The father was out of the picture from when Haffner – or Hafenmaier – was an infant. Lots of CPS interventions for child neglect and physical abuse. He ended up in foster care after the murder. His request for a name change was granted on grounds of protecting the privacy of a minor after such a traumatic, highly publicized crime. He aged out of CPS foster care at 18. Oh, and by the way, Miriam Gottleib was there when Haffner was there. There was only a 3-year age difference."

Lisbon sat silent while thinking. "So much of it fits. We need to check out the CPS in person."

"Uh, Boss–"

"Yes?"

"I – I also found some records on Jane at the CPS. He spent some time in foster care when he was ten, and then a couple of times a year or two later."

"I know. Jane told me when we worked the Eileen Turner case. Please keep that to yourself."

Van Pelt merely nodded.

"Grace, terrific work! This may be the break we need to stop Red John. Cho and Rigsby have run down everything they can on McAllister, Stiles and Haffner. They'll be back tomorrow. I want you three to visit Carson Springs Child Protective Services on Friday. See if any long-time employees remember anything from 30 years ago. What was Haffner like back then? Anything stand out about Gottleib? And especially, did Haffner and Gottleib seem to have any kind of a relationship? I'll let them know when they call in."

"Will do."

"Meanwhile, I have something else for you to do."

"What, Boss?"

"Can you put GPS traces on our burner phones with zero possibility of Red John using it against us?"

"_Our_ phones?"

"Grace, we're getting closer. Red John could come after one of us." She didn't need to say, "again." "Being able to track each other could make all the difference. And how about tracking our cars?"

"Uh, if there is any connection to us, it can be traced back. The only way would be to get totally new equipment and accounts with no connection to us. It'd have to be paid in a way not linked to any of our identities."

"Can you do it?"

Van Pelt stared wide-eyed at Lisbon, worry and alarm painting her face. She said, barely above a whisper, "Boss, what about Jane? Last time–"

"I'll tell him as soon as I see him. This is different. We're bugging ourselves for our own protection. I'll cancel it if he thinks it's a bad idea."

**Lisbon**

Lisbon spent most of her week orchestrating her team's work and keeping close watch on Abbott's activities. So far as she could tell, Abbott looked straight arrow and capable - if an SOB. He quickly rounded up a bunch of Blake Association members, including a couple of dozen from all areas within the CBI. Lisbon made sure her team including Jane (_especially Jane!_) was among the first to go through FBI screening for the red dot tattoo. Anyone who had the tattoo or refused to be screened was automatically detained for probable cause, for probably being a BA member. She didn't like Abbott, but she wouldn't let personal feelings interfere with protecting her team and preserving the running room they needed to do their jobs, the most important of which was hunting Red John.

Bertram remained at large, the FBI hot on his trail. The FBI was instantly a big, intrusive, irritating presence in law enforcement across the state. Abbott interfaced with the state Justice Department at the level above the CBI director position. The office of the California Attorney General was poorly equipped to manage the investigative agency, but it couldn't be helped until Bertram was replaced. The governor and attorney general were horrified and paralyzed by fear of the political consequences of getting it wrong. So the CBI would run on inertia for the time being – several weeks, at least. Bertram had gradually eliminated the manager level between the unit leaders and himself, probably the better to monitor CBI affairs and protect the corrupt activities of the BA members. With Bertram on the run, that left no one between the unit leaders and the AG's office. Lisbon's contact in the AG office merely handled the adminis-trivia – no real management or leadership at all. In fact, that person found Lisbon's advice extremely helpful in making decisions about day-to-day CBI matters which just couldn't be put off.

Her friendship with Minelli was invaluable. He was well liked, well respected and – being retired – no threat to anyone in CBI or the AG's office who was honorable. Minelli's famed information back-channels were well tended and fully functional. Despite her reluctance, Minelli all but forced Lisbon to make the rounds, to remind all powers that be of the facts. _Her_ team had discovered and exposed the Blake Association. _Her_ team had the best close and conviction record in the state, despite getting the toughest cases. _Lisbon personally_ had a stellar reputation throughout California law enforcement. Minelli told her that the governor and AG intended to hire a replacement for Bertram ASAP, but that person had to be cleared by Abbott. No one knew what "ASAP" would mean since the extent of the corruption was still unknown.

Playing poker with California notables – judges, state senators, state agency directors, local FBI leaders – was paying big dividends. The informal respect and good will greased the official conclusions about Lisbon and her team. Everyone didn't love her. She and her team (mainly Jane) stepped on too many toes in earning that close record. But they respected her and her honesty was above question. Of course, Abbott questioned it anyhow. There was nothing to find. Despite Abbott's natural skepticism about teams which reported to Bertram, he quickly determined there were no skeletons in Lisbon's closet. Her team didn't always do things by the book (Jane was a big factor), but the transgressions were never for personal gain, vanity, or political favor. She bent the rules to get the perps. Abbott might not make the same choices, but he could understand and respect them.

By Thursday, Lisbon had finished the needed political ground work. Lisbon was once again in good standing with everyone. If she needed quick forensics work, immediate back-up on Red John, or quick legal action on a case, she would get it. Abbott would leave her team alone to do its job. She gritted her teeth and even went out of her way to help Abbott. Abbott desperately needed an insider's knowledge of the players in California law enforcement. Lisbon's intimate knowledge of her team's work on the BA was helpful as well. She decided Abbott would be around for awhile and her life would be easier if he wasn't an enemy. Once he decided Lisbon wasn't corrupt, Abbott relaxed from being an SOB to merely hard-nosed and inflexible. After dealing with Jane for a decade, Lisbon had gotten far more adaptable and could deal comfortably with Abbott nonetheless.


	3. Chapter 3 - What A Tangled Web

**Chapter 3: What a Tangled Web...**

**Jane**

A few hours after the team meeting Jane was driving north to Oregon. The team would do the grunt work in checking out McAllister, Stiles and Haffner better and faster than he could. He needed to talk to Pete Turner. A phone call would be quicker, but in-person was better for reading people, not to mention pressing them to talk when they didn't want to. Plus, he could talk to Samantha and Roddy if need be.

The Citroen pulled into the fairgrounds parking lot in late afternoon. It was Wednesday and the carnival had just arrived. Everyone was busy setting up for opening day on Thursday. Jane found Pete where he expected him, overseeing the assembly of the rides and carny infrastructure.

Finished swearing at recalcitrant bolts and hunks of metal, Pete's gaze was caught by the incongruous sight of a man in a three-piece suit in the summer heat at a carnival.

"Paddy!" Pete called, walking over. "What brings you up to–" he paused a moment to recall just what town they were in, "Medford?"

Jane trotted over only to be crushed in a bear hug, dwarfed by Pete's height and bulk. "I knew you couldn't manage without some intelligent guidance. I came to supervise."

"Yeah, you Janes always talk a good story but you're allergic to real work," Pete grumbled, wiping the dust off his hands with a rag. "C'mon, Sam will make you some iced tea." He called to the other man working on the ride, "Mark. Finish this up and take a break. I'll be back after dinner."

Jane, Pete, and Sam sat around the patio table outside their Airstream trailer. Sam poured tea for all three, taking stock of Jane as she handed out the glasses. It was two months since she'd last seen him but he seemed years more tired, more worn.

"Patrick, why are you here?" Sam asked after taking a sip of tea. "You finally want me to do your astrological chart?" she smiled.

Jane tilted his chair back, ignoring her effort at the light touch. "Eileen," he answered.

"She was killed two months ago, Paddy. What's changed?" Pete asked soberly.

"That's the problem. Nothing will change till I get Red John. Eileen. Angie and Charlie. And 20-odd others over the years. It's been a decade since Angela and Charlotte were murdered. You know I don't give up."

Pete and Sam exchanged glances. "That's some pretty heavy artillery, Paddy. What exactly do you want from us?"

"Information I can't get anywhere else."

"I told you everything I know when you started looking into LeeLee's murder."

"I have better questions now."

"You saw Sean Barlow?"

Jane nodded. "Uh-huh. He didn't do it."

"What then? I don't know anything about Red John."

"Pete, I'm more convinced than ever there's a connection. I'm pretty sure Sean Barlow isn't Red John, but he's tied into it somehow. Talk to me about the '60's. What were Sean and Alex up to back then?"

Pete hunched his shoulders uncomfortably, trying unsuccessfully to relieve tension. He shrugged. "Sean and Alex always had their schemes."

"What schemes. And who else?"

Pete looked away and sighed. "Sean Barlow was always in tight with the IRA. You know that, right? Alex. Well, Alex went along. Sean always took lead and your father followed."

"What's the story of 'The English Lord'? How did he fit in?"

"I'm surprised you even know about him, Paddy."

"My mother and father talked about him when I was a kid. Never met him. How did he fit in?"

Jane pinned Pete with his gaze. Pete sighed and finally answered. "Bartholomew Stafford. He came over from Britain in the mid-'60's. I'd guess he was about 25 at the time. Mentalist. Psychic. Con man. He traveled with the carnival for awhile. He and Sean hit it off. Sean handled the shady IRA deals. Stafford gave him access to the UK – something Sean couldn't do because, y'know, Irish versus the Brits."

"What happened after the '60's?"

"He disappeared. There was some rumor about him and a religious scam. He just stopped showing up. That's all I know, Paddy."

Jane took a deep breath. "What about Stafford and my parents?"

Pete looked at him levelly, then dropped his eyes and mumbled, "Don't know about that. He just hung around with Sean and Alex."

"And my mother, Mary?"

Pete shook his head and shoved his chair away from the table, getting up. "I've gotta get back to work, Paddy. Carnival opens tomorrow and there's a lot to do."

"Just one more thing," Jane said. Pete paused. "Do you recognize either of these photos?" Jane laid photographs of Stiles and Haffner on the table.

"Don't know the young guy. The older one could be Stafford, but it's 40 years, Paddy. Not sure." Sam looked at the pictures as well, but had nothing to add.

Jane said softly, "Thanks, Pete, Sam. You know this won't go further."

Sam went into the Airstream with the glasses. Pete looked at Jane again. "You know Sean Barlow blames you for Jimmy, right?"

Jane froze. Jimmy was a name, a person he hadn't thought about for over 25 years. He swallowed. "Thank you. Say 'bye' to Sam for me." Pete extended his hand. Jane took his hand and pulled him in for a hug as well, then turned and walked away. "I'll be in touch...when this is finished." he said over his shoulder.

~.~.~.~

"Jane, finally!" exclaimed Lisbon as Jane stepped into her townhouse Thursday morning. "Grace uncovered some promising infor–"

Jane shushed her and led her outside for another walk to the gazebo. Lisbon continued talking quietly as they walked, "Cho and Rigsby just eliminated McAllister as a possibility. Van Pelt dug up some promising info. What have you been up to?"

"I went to talk to Pete."

"Isn't he traveling the summer carny circuit?"

"This year they're traveling the coast. I was able to meet up in Oregon."

"Long drive. Was it worth it?"

"You first. What did Van Pelt, Rigsby and Cho find out?"

After Lisbon filled him in, Jane talked about his conversation with Pete.

"Pete's the only one who could tell me about Sean Barlow."

"You still think he's involved?"

As was typical, Jane answered with a question. "What do we know about Stiles?"

"Involved with Visualize since the '70's. Powerful, secretive. Rumored criminal activities, but never able to prove it. And we know nothing before the '70's – other than that he emigrated from the UK sometime."

Jane took a deep breath. "We may have a lead now. I remembered Sean and my father talking about a former carny mentalist, 'The English Lord.' Guess who."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. When I met Stiles I pegged him as a con man. Maybe I was more right than I thought. If the two really are the same man, back then he went by Bartholomew Stafford. He emigrated from the UK sometime in the '60's. Pete remembers him thick as thieves with Sean Barlow. Sean kept in contact with friends in Ireland and was deeply involved with the IRA. The IRA has since disbanded politically. However, the network that funded the IRA was involved in crime and with other terrorist organizations. The money side of the IRA is still active. My father and Sean stopped talking openly around me when I was 11 or so, but Sean's criminal sidelines go back 45 years."

"What does Stiles have to do with that?"

"Stiles took control of Visualize around 1976, right?" Lisbon nodded. "Where did he get the money to grow from a few hundred followers to millions in just 20 years? It takes money to recruit followers, reform messed up kids, buy those farms. Not to mention bribing police and politicians. I think Sean helped fund Visualize early on."

"Why would Barlow do that? What's in it for him?"

"Excellent question. Sean would see it as an investment. Sean would appreciate Stiles's talents _and_ UK connections. Being Irish, Sean could never make UK connections without someone like Stiles. Maybe Stiles cut him in for a piece of the action – small initially, huge down the road."

"How does all this connect to Red John?"

"Not sure. Yet. - I'm feeling my way. It looks increasingly like Haffner is Red John. Stiles would know about that. Haffner certainly could have been at that farm back in 1988. So Haffner joins Visualize and gets cleaned up. He becomes an enforcer for Stiles, and eventually becomes a protege. If Haffner really is Red John, he's smart enough to impress Stiles. Maybe become the Visualize heir apparent."

"Thin."

"Not so much. Stiles talked a good game about knowing about Red John. Stiles told me Kristina's location. How could he know that? And Stiles knew I manipulated Red John to kill the San Joaquin serial killer Panzer."

"So now what?"

"Did Cho ever get the DNA analyses from Forensics?"

'Not yet. We're all back on duty on Monday and I can put some pressure on."

"What have you been up to?"

"I've been following what Abbott's up to. He won't win any congeniality awards, but he seems straight and competent. Minelli suggested I trot around and remind everyone how great we are," that earned her a rare, real smile from Jane, "so we'll have support when we need it. And we will need it, no matter how Red John goes down. Minelli says the governor and AG want a new head for the CBI ASAP. But they're scared witless of choosing some Blake Association member. Everything's on hold till Abbott does more to mop up Blake."

"Of course. Where's that leave you?"

"I have no idea. But we need to get as much done as possible before things change again. I don't know how much running room I'll have once we get a new CBI director."

"We're close, Lisbon. Maybe this week."

"Jane–" He looked up and she continued. "I want Van Pelt to put traces on _our_ burner phones. I'm afraid Red John might come after us."

Jane frowned and Lisbon's stomach churned unpleasantly as she recalled their argument in the desert diner. _Was that really just weeks ago?!_

"I would have given my right arm to know where you were when Red John called on your phone. Can she do it securely? It just makes us more vulnerable if Red John can tap into the traces for our locations."

Relieved, "I think she can. Let's meet in the park outside the CBI, 8 a.m. on Monday. I'll call the team. We need to go over all the facts and lay out our next steps."

**Cho and Rigsby and Van Pelt**

The 62-year old woman sat down heavily, shoulders bent from too many years, too much worry about broken homes, broken parents and, especially, broken kids.

"Mrs. Tilman, how long have you been working for the Carson Springs CPS?" opened Cho.

"Since 1976."

"Do you remember a boy named Raymond Hafenmaier? CPS gained guardianship after his mother died. No one could locate his father."

She frowned, then sighed. "I'm not sure. There have been so many kids over my 30 years here."

Van Pelt caught Cho's eye and he nodded fractionally. "Does this picture remind you of anyone?"

Tilman's face brightened in recognition. "I think so. I think he might look like that 30 years older."

Van Pelt placed the younger Haffner picture, extrapolated back by the facial aging software. "Is this the boy you remember?"

"Yes. Yes, that's definitely him," Tilman said.

"What can you tell us about him, m'am?" Rigsby asked politely.

Tilman sat back and thought a moment, frowning slightly. "He came to us after his mother was _murdered_," she said forcefully. "Terrible crime. You're right. The father wasn't in the picture since he was born. Unfortunately, it was all too common. A mother too young. No husband, no father in the picture. Mother repeatedly neglected and beat the child. If I recall, she got into drug abuse, too. And then she was stabbed to death. The boy found her when he got home from school."

"How was he when he was under CPS guardianship?" asked Cho.

"Troubled. He was sent to several different foster homes. It wasn't because we wanted to move him around. The foster families just couldn't deal with him. He was moody, sometimes violent. One family had a teenaged daughter and were very worried about her safety. –A murder like that scars a boy forever, you know," she added, with a touch of defensiveness for her former charge, even after 30 years.

"What happened to him?"

Sadly, "He aged out of the system at 18." She added, brightening, "I think he eventually got his GED through us, though," grasping for anything positive she could remember.

"Was he particularly close to any of the CPS staff?" asked Van Pelt.

Tilman didn't answer for a moment, shifting uneasily in her chair. "Uhh, personal relationships with our charges are against the rules, but he seemed to be close to Miriam Gottleib. Miriam was a clerk here while she continued her education by taking part-time college courses. You know, she was the director here until –until-" her face fell thinking about Gottleib's death just two months earlier.

"Yes, m'am. We know she died recently," Van Pelt interrupted kindly. "I don't mean to be upsetting, but can you tell us a little more about Ms. Gottleib's relationship with Hafenmaier?"

"Oh! I think he changed his name, before leaving. Privacy. Um, I think Miriam was attracted to Raymond and he was to her, as well. The age difference was only a few years. Strictly against the rules but nothing ever came of it. He left and I don't think she heard much from him other than a card a few times a year."

"Is there anything more that comes to mind about Raymond Hafenmaier?"

"I'm sorry. Not really. Just that he seemed quite troubled. I hope he has done well for himself."

"Here's our phone number. Please call if you think of anything else. We will appreciate getting a copy of Hafenmaier's file as soon as it can be retrieved. Thank you for your time," Cho finished up.

**The Team**

Lisbon's team assembled in the park across from the CBI building at 8 a.m. on Monday morning. They all remembered to leave their CBI cell phones in their cars before gathering.

Lisbon summarized, "Based on the three-dot tattoo, we know Bertram, Smith, Partridge and McAllister were or are Blake Association. Bertram is still on the run. Smith is now in Federal prison. The Austin FBI agents are doing a good job and no one's silenced Smith yet. Partridge is dead and it appears McAllister is as well. The information Cho and Rigsby uncovered means McAllister isn't Red John, regardless. Kirkland is dead at Smith's hand. That leaves Stiles and Haffner."

Cho interjected before they focused on the main suspects, "Jane, you think Kirkland killed Jason Lennon, right? Kirkland was about to _torture_ you to get your list of Red John suspects. Why would he kill Lennon rather than get him to identify Red John?"

"We're not sure what Lennon told Kirkland. Lennon died shortly after he came out of a medically induced coma. If Lennon was killed in the hospital, Bob Kirkland didn't do it. Before Bob Kirkland got around to-" Jane swallowed before he was able to continue, "torturing me, he told me he had an identical twin brother, Michael. Bob said Michael had become a follower of a charismatic criminal who Bob thought was Red John. It could be Bret Stiles instead of Red John, but no matter. Bob Kirkland wanted to nail Red John. Michael Kirkland, whether Visualize or Red John supporter, would want to protect Red John. If Lennon was killed, Michael Kirkland likely did it."

They sat back, heads abuzz with yet another wrinkle, yet another complication. The case was ridiculously complicated. They were inclined to reject the elaborate theories, except no one had anything better to offer.

"Jane, how could Stiles and Haffner survive the explosion?" Rigsby asked. "The Malibu PD found burnt lumps believed to be their bodies."

Jane leaned back and took a breath before answering. Lisbon thought with surprise that it was under two weeks since Jane had been caught in that explosion. She suppressed a shiver.

"There were two explosions. The first was a flash bang concussion grenade. It knocked everyone unconscious without doing permanent damage. I believe Haffner or Stiles had an ally. He helped Stiles and Haffner out of the building. Then he dragged Bertram, Smith and me out of harm's way. He planted two bodies before the real explosion. It would be easy enough to spread DNA trace around to suggest that two of the corpses were Haffner and Stiles."

"Why not kill Bertram, Smith, and you?"

"Misdirection. Leaving Bertram and Smith alive gives us someone to chase. Once the bodies were swapped and Bertram, Smith, and I were dragged into another room, the deadly explosion was set off. Everything in the main room was burned to a crisp. Voila. No one hunts a dead man. Red John is free."

Lisbon shook her head, "Wish we could confirm that."

Jane frowned, thinking. "Lisbon, you arrived just before the main explosion, right?" She nodded her head. "That means you were driving up the service road shortly before then. Did you see cars leaving?"

"Yeah, I did. I can't remember license plates or identifying details, though."

"Let's talk about that after we're done here. Maybe I can help you remember. Then we could trace the plates." Lisbon shrugged uncomfortably, but didn't reject his suggestion outright.

Jane then filled the team in on his Sean Barlow and Bret Stiles information and speculations. "This is our last, best chance to get Red John. Either he'll create a new identity and disappear. Or, he'll come after us."

This was Jane's play and he laid out the next steps. "I'll work with Lisbon and see if we can ID the car leaving my house before the explosion. Cho, see if Forensics has those DNA analyses. I kept the teacup when Stiles was in for questioning. Lisbon got Haffner's coffee cup before the Malibu meeting. I want to see if they're related." Cho frowned. Jane had given him _three_ DNA samples for analysis. _What was the other one?_

Jane continued. "Van Pelt, you search for old carny advertisements or show leaflets for performances of 'The English Lord, Psychic and Mentalist.' Also see what you get on 'Bartholomew Stafford' both here and in the UK. Rigsby, you and Cho keep trying to see if there's evidence Stiles or Haffner is alive. Also, Carson Springs CPS is supposed to have pulled Hafenmaier's file by now. Finger prints could confirm that was Haffner. That could be the Red John connection to CPS and the Eileen Turner murder. Lisbon, you and I should take another crack at Sean Barlow." He looked around. "Anything more?"

Lisbon added, "Yeah. Van Pelt, go ahead with the GPS traces on our burner phones. I want to be able to locate everyone if Red John goes after us. No one," she added, glancing at Jane, "goes in the field alone."


	4. Chapter 4 -Closing In

**Chapter 4: Closing In**

**Monday**

Lisbon's team had plenty to do. They were in good company, everyone having lost a week of work and a career's worth of security and self-confidence. Feeling vaguely violated, the CBI employees reclaimed offices and desks after the FBI's search for Blake Association materials. For the great majority of CBI staff, it was offensive and unsettling to suddenly be treated with suspicion, suddenly have a career of honest work dismissed as irrelevant – or worse – mere cover for crimes. Lisbon's team set it all aside and tackled their assigned tasks.

Once Lisbon was sure Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt were off to a solid start, she and Jane turned to their piece of the puzzle. Lisbon reluctantly allowed Jane to hypnotize her to try to recall details about the cars leaving on the service road after the explosion at Jane's Malibu house. She could provide a much clearer description of the vehicles – color, make, style – but only saw part of one license plate number. She passed it along for her team to check out – whomever had a lull or hit a dead end on other tasks. She and Jane then left for the long drive to Venice, California. They would see Sean Barlow the next morning.

Rigsby followed a hunch and looked into the SacPD cases and Sacramento FBI cases during Haffner's tenure in each organization. It took several hours before he found it. Haffner had worked an FBI case involving a serial killer active in several western states. The m.o. was particularly gory, involving women, a hunting knife, and lots and lots of blood. Interestingly, the first Red John murder (at least since 1988) occurred a few months after that case was closed. The similarities didn't make a splash in the media because the last several killings in the FBI case had occurred in other states. Red John, of course, was a California home-boy psychopath whose first "artistic" endeavor occurred in San Francisco.

Rigsby and Cho then worked the phones trying to unearth signs of life, any sign Stiles or Haffner was still alive. They enjoyed no more success than they did the previous week.

Van Pelt followed up on Jane's tip about Bartholomew Stafford. Not only did she find bits and pieces of the man's history in the US, her big break was tracking him back to the UK. Bartholomew Stafford was one of several aliases used by British national Brent Stiller. Stiller was the brilliant progeny of a genteel British family whose fortunes faded with the end of WWII. Nonetheless, he attended the best schools and started his career working for the British intelligence agency M16. Arrogance, a taste for unaffordable fine things, and a penchant for fraud truncated a promising career. Disowned by his family, he drifted from one shady - if not outright criminal - activity to another, changing aliases as often as others change hairstyles. Eventually, emigrating became appealing, a fresh start free from the threat of imminent arrest. His intelligence training and con man experience were excellent preparation for his US psychic-mentalist act, and later for his ascension to demi-god status as the leader of Visualize. His former UK associates proved invaluable for establishing a new identity. He never looked back.

**Tuesday**

Lisbon and Jane walked the broad Venice, California sidewalk bordering the ocean with a sense of deja vu. Garish signs and murals hawked a myriad of unlikely sights and improbable experiences. The crowds included every possible flavor of human age, race, and appearance. They entered the storefront boldly advertising "Mystic Truth" and "Psychic Adviser and Palm Readings" for divining past, present and future. Incense overwhelmed them and made Jane's eyes water. It took a moment to adjust to the dim interior after the brilliant outdoor sunlight. Marta's de rigueur smile faded when she recognized them. She sullenly asked them to wait while she fetched Sean Barlow.

"Patrick Jane! How nice of you to drop by. Twice this year – after a 30 year absence. And how delightful you brought the lovely Agent Lisbon again."

"Hello, Mr. Barlow–"

"–'_Sean_,' Patrick. No need to be formal."

"We would like a few minutes of your time."

"A few minutes after a five hour drive? You value your time too little, my boy. Come upstairs."

He gestured for them to seat themselves on the couch as they had last visit. Though not as dim as the storefront, the room also exuded a vaguely mysterious ambiance – dark wood, deep red walls and oriental rug, heavy damask fabric, flligree embellishments, interesting oddities associated with psychics and mystics. This time Lisbon felt less susceptible to Barlow's psychic persona now that Jane had figured out Red John's trick with the disk and a possible way Jane's "happy memory" had been discovered and used to target Eileen Turner. Her skin crawled as Barlow's friendly words and warm tone belied the enmity she knew lay just below the surface. She watched quietly as Jane and Barlow verbally circled each other, predators searching for weakness, for an opportunity to draw blood.

"So," opened Barlow, "has California's best CBI team determined who murdered my niece?"

"We're making progress, but no arrest. Yet. Perhaps you can help."

"You know I'm just a businessman, Patrick. And psychic."

"As a 'psychic,'" Jane's tone faintly implied the embedded insult, "perhaps you can divine the connections with Red John that got Eileen Barlow Turner murdered." Jane's slight emphasis on "Turner" was another barb. Sean Barlow had disowned Eileen when she married Roddy Turner.

Barlow frowned, a fake expression. "Oh, I'm sorry to be so little help. You surely need all the help you can get with these...cases." His dark eyes glittered, unwavering gaze fastened on Jane. That was the only tell at odds with his friendly voice and comfortable posture as he leaned back into his chair.

Smoothly, "Sean, you can help by remembering your past. 'The English Lord.' What became of him?"

Barlow shifted minutely. "Stage name, I take it? It sounds faintly familiar. But that must be from decades ago.'"

"Yes it is," Lisbon responded, giving Jane an opportunity to observe undistracted, "We believe he chose a new career path." Her mind flashed back to Van Pelt using that phrase with Jane during her first dinner with the team. She shook it off and refocused on what she was saying. "And he befriended the man who was...or would become, Red John."

Barlow clapped his hands together. Hearty. "Splendid. So all you have to do is find Red John's mentor, his angel, to find Red John?"

"Yes, that's all," Jane responded ironically.

"But isn't that exactly what you had to do...two months ago? When Eileen was murdered?"

"The task is unchanged. That doesn't speak to our progress."

Tiring of sparring, "Well, then you'll have to let me know when you accomplish something."

"You'll be among the first to know, Sean." Jane replied evenly.

Barlow turned his attention to Lisbon. "My dear, I fear you need a vacation or easier line of work. If I don't miss my guess, you've recently suffered a great fright, a terrifying ordeal."

Lisbon's eyes widened at the effrontery of the thinly veiled reference to her capture by Red John. Stiffly, "My work is very rewarding, Mr. Barlow. Especially when we apprehend killers." Face unchanged, Jane was amused at the utter failure of Barlow's attempt at intimidation. The comment only raised her hackles and increased her determination.

Barlow backed off with a faint smile, "You must take care of yourselves," he had broadened it at the last minute to include Jane. "Such a dangerous line of work."

"Sean, be sure to call us if anything comes to mind. We think our case will come together soon. I'm looking forward to getting Red John...and his associates." Jane handed him a card with his CBI phone number.

Barlow smiled and ushered them out.

Starting the five hour drive back to Sacramento, Lisbon glanced at Jane. Awake but tired – _Did he ever truly sleep?_ – he seemed satisfied with what they had gotten from Sean Barlow.

"You seem pleased. What did you get from him?"

"He's always hard to read. But now that we know more, I got more. Barlow didn't do it but he knows Red John. And his angel, his protector." Jane shifted uncomfortably, easing some of the tension from the meeting and stretching long legs cramping again with another long drive added to yesterday's. "All the pieces fit so far. Stiles is Red John's mentor. And Haffner is Red John."

"How will we find them? Or him? We still don't have hard evidence on Haffner, either."

"He'll find us. Our meeting with Barlow guarantees it."

~.~.~.~

Lisbon and Jane arrived in Sacramento near the end of the work day. After checking for bugs, the team met in Lisbon's office with the door closed. They left their CBI cell phones in the bullpen. Lisbon tried to relax, but a rough current of anticipation permeated the meeting. After ten years and more than a dozen near misses, they were on the cusp of getting Red John.

Van Pelt was certain Stiles and 'The English Lord' were one and the same. She passed around a photo of Brent Stiller aka Bartholomew Stafford aka Bret Stiles as a young man. He was slight with above average looks, blue eyes, light red hair, almost 5' 10". Van Pelt passed around Brent Stiller's picture extrapolated to age 70 by the facial aging software program. The resemblance to Bret Stiles was pronounced. A wave of goose bumps passed over Lisbon's arms.

Rigsby offered his discovery of the gory FBI serial killer case that just preceded the start of Red John murders in 1998. He straightened a bit in pride as Jane breathed, "The trigger, I assume."

Cho reported that the details Lisbon recalled about the vehicles from Malibu and the partial license plate number were consistent with several vehicles owned by Visualize. The bad news was that they were also consistent with a few dozen registered vehicles that had nothing to do with Visualize. At least it didn't contradict Jane's theory. Other than that, he and Rigsby had found nothing confirming Stiles and/or Haffner were still alive. Finally, the Carson Springs Child Protective Services file had arrived on Hafenmaier. His fingerprints matched those of Ray Haffner.

Jane and Lisbon then briefed the team on their meeting with Barlow.

"So you think Red John – Haffner – will contact us?" Van Pelt asked, dubious.

Jane replied, "One way or another. We know too much for Haffner to ignore this. Haffner might be willing to disappear, but Barlow and Stiles won't want to. That is, if Stiles is still alive. The other possibility is Barlow rolls over, trades Red John for immunity."

"He'd give up Red John?" Lisbon asked in surprise.

"He'd give up his mother if it's in his interest."

"And Stiles?"

"If Stiles really is terminally ill, he'll just wait it out. Visualize lawyers can stall for years until Stiles dies of natural causes. Haffner and Barlow are the unknown variables here."

"So now what?" asked Cho.

"We hunt Haffner until we find him. Or, until Haffner or Barlow contacts us to make a deal."

"How do you see it going down?" asked Rigsby.

"Nothing's changed from when we all learned my seven suspects. Haffner wants to kill us - together, or, one by one - and then change his identity," Jane answered without emotion. Van Pelt felt a stab of cold, both at the thought of being a target and that Jane said it so calmly. She remembered to listen as Jane continued after sipping his tea. "The hunt would end. We don't have solid evidence that would stand up in court...yet. If Haffner disappears and there are no new Red John killings, the case dies. Red John wins."

"It's essential to work with a partner, all the time," Lisbon cautioned. "Be careful, not just here and in the field, but at home, too. We have targets on our backs 24/7 until we get Haffner." Her office phone rang. She recognized the number - AG's office. "Gotta take this." She stepped aside for a moment. Then she said, "I have to meet with Abbott and the AG's assistant handling the CBI right now. Everyone wrap up and go home. We'll figure out our next steps tomorrow morning." They straggled out of her office. Cho glanced at his watch and hurried away.

Lisbon put her hand on Jane's arm to stop him from leaving. She said softly so only he could hear, "Abbott is asking about Red John. How do we play it?"

Jane's eyes narrowed. "Stall but make it clear Red John is _not_ Blake. If the FBI gets involved, we'll never get anywhere." He shook his head and dropped the mask hiding his dismay and weariness at this newest complication. "The delay and bureaucracy would screw up everything."

Lisbon left for her meeting. Jane sighed and walked toward the break room.

"Jane?" Van Pelt asked. She and Rigsby were straightening their desks and getting ready to leave.

"I'll get tea and wait for Lisbon upstairs. You two have done some great work. We're close, guys. Have a good night."

"Tomorrow, Jane," Rigsby responded, as he left with Van Pelt.

Cho returned fifteen minutes later, file folder in hand. The bullpen was deserted. Lisbon was gone but her briefcase and car keys were still on her desk. Checking the break room, he noted that Jane's cup and saucer weren't there and concluded Jane was still around. He climbed the stairs to the attic – his best guess at Jane's location.


	5. Chapter 5 - Take Down

**Chapter 5: Take Down**

**Cho**

Cho walked silently toward Jane's attic lair, folder with the DNA analyses in hand. The report showed Stiles and Haffner weren't related. Stiles _was_ related to the third, unidentified sample, "X."

They'd fallen into an easy competition over whether Cho could arrive without Jane noticing. Jane usually won. The attic's sliding barn door was open a few inches. _Jane must have been distracted when he got here_. Not for the first time, Cho reflected that the awkward door instantly put him at a disadvantage when he dared invade Jane's domain.

"...old warehouse, Carson Springs. Meet in one hour. Alone," came the voice from Jane's CBI cell, on speaker-phone on the makeshift bed. Jane snapped it shut as Cho sidled in. Jane finished tugging his pant leg down, dropped his right foot to the floor from the bed and turned to face Cho. Cho stopped dead, catching sight of the 10" square wooden box on the bed.

Max Winter gave Jane his Glock encased in that box. Jane helped Winter get out of murder charges by pointing out that any prosecution case would be embarrassingly and hopelessly flawed. Winter's greater gift was the assurance that years of meticulous planning to avenge the murder of his wife had all been worth it. Jane killed Timothy Carter with the Glock. It was returned after the trial found Jane not guilty on all charges. Then, two months ago, Jane asked Cho to teach him to shoot. Cho agreed once Jane proved he had passed the required written exam and that the gun was registered. Since then, Jane achieved basic competence with the Glock.

The box was Cho's undoing.

"Jane? Meet who in an hour?"

"Sean Barlow. He wants to talk. Must have taken a flight to get here so fast. Will you back me up?"

"We need the team. I'll call."

Angry, curt. "No time. Let's go."

"No."

Jane feinted a move toward the box. Cho got there faster. Jane ducked out, slid the door shut and got the padlock on. Cho slammed into the door too late. He swore, checked for his phone, and swore some more. Jane had lifted his phone. Worse, the box was empty.

Jane took the stairs down two at a time. He paused to get a large paper clip from Van Pelt's desk and poked it through his shirt sleeve, just above the cuff. He was out of the building and speeding toward Carson Springs within a minute.

**Lisbon**

Lisbon returned to the CBI building 30 minutes after her team meeting ended. No one was around. She went to the break room for coffee, planning on having a cup and a word with Jane before calling it a night.

Gunshot!

Lisbon dropped the coffee and drew her weapon. _God help me!_ The sound came from the attic. Half way up the stairs she heard Cho. A few more feet and she made out what he was saying. She ran to the door and warned Cho away. She shot the padlock off and slid the door open.

"Jane's meeting Barlow in Carson Springs in an hour. He wouldn't wait."

"What was the gunshot?"

"Jane lifted my phone. Only way I could attract attention."

"Damn it!."

Back on her floor, Lisbon opened the weapons locker and grabbed suitable guns. Each carried two guns and boxes of ammunition.

In the elevator she asked, "Where in Carson Springs?"

"He just said, 'Old warehouse.'"

She handed him her burner phone. "Call Rigsby and Van Pelt. Get them on the road to Carson Springs."

Lisbon used her CBI phone to call Pete Turner. After working with Jane for a decade, she stored his key numbers in her phone as well as her own. No answer.

The elevator finally reached ground level and they ran to the CBI SUV. A quick check verified it was equipped with Kevlar vests, flash-bangs, flashlights, and other materiel.

Cho drove. Sirens and lights cleared local traffic till they were on the interstate north. Rigsby and Van Pelt would take a second CBI SUV. Fortunately, Rigsby's baby sitter could stay with his son.

Van Pelt called Lisbon. She had a trace on Jane's burner phone. Lisbon was momentarily relieved. Jane was half-an-hour ahead. The trace could disappear any moment if Jane, Barlow, or God knows who tossed the phone.

Lisbon tried Pete again. "Pete? Teresa Lisbon. I need your help. Jane is meeting with Sean Barlow and is in danger... Pete, he'll end up dead if you don't help... Barlow told him 'old warehouse' in Carson Springs. Any idea where that is?... 4239 Mountain Drive, right... Can you describe it? Anything will help... Okay. Thank you. God bless. I'll let you know when it's over."

She briefed Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt by phone on the little Pete told her. Then she called Abbott to request back up. Abbott agreed to send four agents. They would be a little behind her team. Lisbon had done everything she could for the time being. She leaned back, eyes closed, and breathed deeply. Calm would help her think clearly and act effectively.

Traffic was light on the interstate. Cho hazarded a question, even though he was driving well above the speed limit. "Why Abbott?" They were still a good 40 minutes from Carson Springs.

"Who else? Local cops could be Blake or even Visualize. We don't have a lot of options." Cho grunted his acknowledgment.

"Boss, sorry I let Jane trick me."

"It's not the first time." She bit back the rest because it _could_ very well be the last time if things didn't go well.

"Son of a bitch. Why does he _do_ that? Damn reckless fool!"

Lisbon sighed. "He is a reckless fool. But he has a reason. The FBI wants in on Red John. Abbott thinks there's a connection with Blake."

"So did we till last week. Crap. They'll screw everything up."

"That's what Jane said."

"So this is make or break."

"Yeah. We finish this _now_. Or, we lose it all."

**Jane**

Jane pulled up to the warehouse and got out, closing the car door quietly. He circled the tall, metal building, new leather uncomfortably rubbing his right ankle and calf as he walked. As he remembered from his carny days, the only windows were high off the ground, maximizing security and wall space for storage, as befitted a warehouse. A few cars were haphazardly parked in the vast, dirt field. None he recognized. Daylight was fading. The only sounds were the chirping of a few early crickets, the cooing of birds as they settled down to sleep, and the restless susurrus of distant traffic. The huge roll-up doors were closed and locked.

Jane found the side door unlocked. Opening it a quarter of an inch, he could see no lights inside. He silently shoved the door open a foot and slid in off to the side. Then he froze at the feel of cold metal against his temple.

"Patrick, welcome." Jane recognized Sean Barlow's voice. He was shoved against the wall and handed a pair of handcuffs. With the door closed, the darkness was complete.

"Face the wall. Put these on behind your back." Jane did so. Barlow ratcheted the cuffs down till they were uncomfortably tight. He took Jane's cell phone from his vest and his gun from his jacket pocket as he patted down his torso. Then he gripped Jane's arm, led him fifty feet into the building and shoved him down into a chair. A naked bulb flared to life as Barlow dragged night vision goggles off his face. The light only emphasized the vast, mostly empty space. Too feeble to reach the walls, the light pooled around Jane in a 30 foot circle. Barlow used a second set of cuffs to chain Jane to the chair.

"What do you want, Sean?"

Barlow leaned back against a metal post.

"You figured out most of it, Patrick. Clever. That mediocrity of a father could never have sired you. You know that, right? Alex found out when your mother died. I told Red John. He was _a little_ jealous, I think."

"How did Eileen figure in?"

"I want the baby. The whore dies and Roddy Turner's framed for the murder. It was a pleasant coincidence that Red John wanted to mess with you. I was at the carnival and saw you that day. Told Red John your fond memory."

"What do you want from me?"

"I've already gotten most of what I want, my boy. I got my revenge upon Alex after that business deal. I would have left you alone." Barlow began to pace from nervous energy. "Except for Jimmy."

"I didn't kill Jimmy."

Barlow turned and back-handed Jane across the face, his heavy ring splitting the skin over Jane's right cheekbone. "You jacked my car for a joy ride. And then he died when you stalled it on the tracks! He died in the train wreck."

Head ringing from the blow, Jane's breath came quick and harsh with emotion. His eyes bored into Barlow's. "_Jimmy_ hot-wired your convertible. I told him it was a bad idea. _He_ stalled it. He tried a long time to start it, afraid of what you'd do. Then he got out and ran. I told him to run toward the train, I told him! The train hit the car and debris killed him. There was _nothing_ I could do."

"I knew I'd get my revenge. You'd do the psychic con, do readings for the police for the credibility and publicity. Either a murderer would kill you. Or I'd have you killed and blame it on him. But it was so much better. I know Red John. He took everything that made your life worth living. Just like you cost me my son."

"We'll catch Red John. And his accomplices."

Barlow smiled warmly, countering, "He'll kill your friends then vanish like smoke."

"Killing me won't stop the investigation."

Sarcastically, "If the _great Boy Wonder_ can't catch him, who will after you're dead? Now I leave you to Red John's gentle friendship. Then you'll have paid in full for my son. Good-bye, Patrick." Barlow spat on Jane's face, turned on his heel and left. The door closed after him with a click.

Jane focused on controlling his breathing, clearing his head. It was a shock when Haffner stepped into the light. Knowing Haffner's location, Jane began working the paperclip out of his cuff.

"Jane," he said almost conversationally, "I warned you there'd be a comeuppance."

"Why kill my wife and daughter? It should have been me."

"A lesson in humility." Haffner's eyes glittered dangerously. "In Vegas, I would have embraced you, let you share my following like a brother. You refused my generosity. For what? The cretins you call friends? That just proves you're unworthy."

"You're raving, Haffner. You kill innocent women and children. You're a twisted, perverted sociopath–" Haffner unsheathed his knife and whipped it across Jane's chest. Jane cried out and panted at the pain. The shallow gash oozed red down his shirt and vest. Mastering the pain, he finished, "–a killer worth not one life you've taken."

Haffner leaned close and whispered, "Who are you to judge, you arrogant liar and fraud? You have no idea how much I've overcome, what I've accomplished. Where are your followers? Who's willing to die for you?" He stepped back several paces, regarding Jane with open contempt.

"Death is all you know. You call me a fraud? You give the damaged and vulnerable something they desperately want. All you demand in return is their life. You killed Miranda to make Lorelei vulnerable. What did your love get Lorelei but death?"

Haffner whirled and flung his knife. The blade buried itself to the hilt in Jane's left arm. Jane screamed in pain. Hands finally free, he pulled the knife out and dropped it.

The lone bulb died, plunging the warehouse into jet black. The side door crashed open. Footsteps pounding. Clattering of the chair falling. Metal rattling on concrete. Just as suddenly, all lights flicked on, brilliantly lighting the warehouse. Haffner yelled in agony, tearing his night vision goggles off.

"Police! Drop it, Haffner!" ordered Lisbon.

Jane rose to face Haffner, gun drawn from an ankle holster missed by Barlow. Lisbon, Cho and Van Pelt trained their guns on Haffner. Jane held his fire for a beat through near-superhuman self-control. Still blinded, Haffner lifted his gun and fired one wild round. Bullets from four guns tore through his chest. He was dead before hitting the floor. Cho stepped over and nudged the body like he would rotting road kill, confirming he was at last truly dead.

Jane lowered his arm and dropped the gun. He stood trembling from adrenaline and shock, pupils dilated, hyper-stimulated in every fiber. He staggered over to Haffner and stood looking down, chest heaving, not noticing the blood dripping from his left hand and soaking his shirt and vest. Lisbon took his right arm to gently lead him away. Jane abruptly pulled free, pivoted and gave the body a swift kick, crushing the left side of Haffner's face. She grabbed him again, righted the chair, and made him sit down. She undid the first few buttons of his vest and shirt, relieved to see the chest wound was shallow. The stab wound was deep. No artery was severed or blood would be spraying across the room rather than dripping down his arm. Jane sat, dazed and silent.

"Cho, get a medical kit. We need to staunch the bleeding. Get an ambulance here." She pulled an evidence bag from her pocket and scooped up Haffner's knife and pocketed it.

Rigsby came in with Sean Barlow and cuffed him to a support post. He went to stand behind Van Pelt and hugged her. Rigsby pulled her back from Haffner's body just in time. Her spit landed next to instead of on the face. The ME would be able to tell Jane's abuse happened after Haffner was dead. It would be better not to have to explain Van Pelt's DNA on his face as well.

Van Pelt finally said, "That's for O'Laughlin." Rigsby drew back, confused and hurt. She caught sight of his expression, sympathy instantly aroused for her husband. "Wayne, no, no. I'm not sorry for O'Laughlin. I'm furious Red John put him up to it, tricked me, and almost killed three of us." She turned and allowed him to hug her before she straightened her shoulders and attempted to regain her professional poise.

Lisbon patted her arm and murmured, "It's okay, Grace."

Abbott's team arrived too late for the action. But the fresh agents were able to secure the crime scene and collect evidence. The ME was on his way. The FBI agents would take Barlow to be locked up in a CBI holding cell for further questioning. Van Pelt and Rigsby left shortly after for Sacramento, followed by Cho in the other SUV. Jane's injuries required treatment but were not life‑threatening. After reassuring Jane she would meet him at the hospital, Lisbon followed the ambulance in the Citroen for the ten minute drive.

Pulling into the hospital parking lot, Lisbon took a moment before going in. Head resting against the steering wheel, she fingered her cross and said a prayer of thanks. They had come out on the other side of Red John. No one on her team died or was seriously injured. The kill was justified. No prison, or need for Jane to flee. And Red John was dead.

Finally.


	6. Chapter 6 - Aftermath

**Chapter 6: Aftermath**

**Jane**

Jane _hated_ being out of control, having things _done to him_. Even if necessary.

The EMT's wheeled Jane's stretcher into St. Vincent's trauma center and then into a hall in the treatment area beyond the waiting room. Pain flared in his arm, chest, face with every bump. Overhead lights hurt his eyes. The EMT's and an RN transferred Jane to a hospital bed so they could leave with their stretcher. The triage nurse looked him over immediately and then...nothing. Jane's vital signs were stable and the bleeding was well controlled. Jane had the misfortune of arriving just after two teens with gunshot wounds. Even with his law enforcement connection, the GSW cases trumped non-life-threatening stab wounds.

Carson Springs poverty and crime ensured you did _not_ want to visit the emergency room on a Friday night. Nor even on this particular Tuesday night. A gang war left seven with gunshot wounds. The cases overwhelmed the capacity of the three hospitals. Located in an area long poor and declining, the hospitals didn't enjoy magnanimous gifts for new wings or revamped emergency services. The hospitals did the best they could with what they could get: Inadequate reimbursement from the Medicaid program for the poor, the Medicare program for the elderly, and insurance companies for the (few) employed. They got mostly bad debts from everyone else. Federal law mandated that hospitals treat _everyone_ who showed up at an emergency room, regardless of ability to pay, putting hospitals in a no-win situation. Citizens resisted paying ever higher taxes and so the problems persisted. Separating _receiving_ care from _paying_ for it ensured that demand endlessly exceeded supply. The plight of St. Vincent's and hundreds of other inner city hospitals was the result.

At first Jane struggled to calm the storm of thoughts, emotion and pain. Random thoughts, emotions crashed around in his mind. _Haffner, how could I miss it when I worked–dead, dead, right? at least I waited, didn't I? I think I–and Jimmy, damn Barlow, Eileen, his own niece–no one was hurt, god I don't think so, gotta ask Lisbon, where's Lisbon?–Alex wasn't my–but my mother then, but I knew, suspected– where's Lisbon?_ Seconds ticked by and gathered into minutes and then into many minutes. It was anything but quiet. A woman groaned and periodically cried out in one emergency bay, machines beeped and whirred, and conversations, arguments and exclamations of pain in the waiting room provided a constant undercurrent of noise in the treatment area. Jane reflected again that a hospital was the last place to go for actual rest. Nonetheless, he gradually calmed down and gained control over the pain, his thoughts, and his emotions.

Able to think clearly once more, he knew exactly what to expect, having spent many carny layovers in Carson Springs. Although he would prefer to be treated sooner than later, he couldn't argue that his impatience should have priority over someone's life – even to himself. St. Vincent's hadn't the resources for frills or hand-holding or quick treatment for everyone. Strep cases competed with gunshot wounds, competed with baby deliveries, competed with sprains, competed with heart attacks. Jane did take comfort knowing that sheer volume ensured expertise in treating gunshot wounds, stabbings, and beatings. He would get decent treatment...eventually.

**Lisbon**

Lisbon made her way into the trauma center, mentally scoffing at the pretentious term. She wound her way through a surprisingly crowded waiting room to the clerk's desk and confirmed that Jane was a patient. They could tell her nothing more. She found a seat on the uncomfortable plastic chairs. The room was vaguely grubby. The magazines provided to occupy hours of waiting were months or years out of date. _Hurry up and wait._ She hoped for a cup of coffee, but the vending machines were out. Surprisingly, they had chilled orange juice – probably because it was one of the few healthful choices. She got that in lieu of coffee - or dinner. Surprised, fifteen minutes later she looked over as Cho sat down alongside and handed her coffee and a take-out bag containing a burger and fries.

"I thought you were going back to Sacramento."

"Changed my mind. You need company. Maybe security if they keep him." Then after a minute, "He's my friend, too. Any news?"

"No." She sighed. "I don't think the injuries are too bad. There are some pretty serious cases here, tonight.'

"Yeah." Cho had ample experience with inner city emergency services from his days as a gangbanger and city cop. It was the same everywhere. He expected nothing different.

After half an hour, Lisbon mustered her best authoritative cop persona and asked to see Jane. Her badge convinced the clerk and RN to be flexible. The treatment area was worn but spotless - a sharp contrast with the waiting area. She found Jane dozing on a bed in the hall in the treatment area. He looked slightly pale and more than slightly tired.

"How you doing? she asked, touching his shoulder.

He turned his head and opened his eyes. "Hi, Lisbon. Fine." Urgently, "Everyone's okay?"

"Yes, except you. How's the pain?"

"Under control. Busy night. They'll eventually get to me."

She frowned slightly, "Sorry you have to wait."

He shrugged with his good shoulder. "Meh. Flesh wounds. Just the way it is." He motioned with his chin. "In bay four, you have a woman in labor. Bay three, heart attack. Numbers one and two were gunshot wounds, currently in surgery. And the woman groaning and moaning in the waiting room? Hemorrhoids. Bad, I guess."

Lisbon looked at him and shook her head. He picked up information like other people breathe. Reading the patients was his way of distracting himself from the pain...and the night's events. He would have to deal with it all eventually, but not now apparently. She stopped wool-gathering, realizing he'd gone on to something new.

"–Hey, since I'm gonna be here awhile, how about getting a cop to take my statement?"

"Abbott's agents are handling the crime scene. You think that's wise? Are you sedated, or–"

"Stone cold sober. I just want to get it over."

"Jane, it was justified. I gave fair warning. He fired first."

"I know." Jane lifted his right hip, wincing in pain at the movement. He fished in his back pocket under the blanket then handed her his CBI cell phone. "Here."

"What?" she asked as she accepted it.

"A gift of technology. Barlow missed it –maybe thought it was my wallet since he'd found the burner cell. I left it on 'RECORD.'"

She looked at him, gratitude battling with surprise. "I'm impressed. If it picked up enough–"

"–It did, I listened."

"–that could provide everything we need to pressure Barlow and justify dealing with Ha–"

"Shush. Let's not broadcast it," he said softly.

She drew a deep breath. "Yeah. Better not stir things up till security's lined up. I'll get an agent in here." She turned to leave.

"Hey! How about bringing me a shirt from my go-bag? I have no plans to stay the night despite these lovely accommodations."

She smiled despite herself. For once, Jane's reluctance seemed reasonable.

Cho stepped in and talked with Jane while Lisbon called to request an FBI agent come and take Jane's statement. She then got Jane's shirt from the go bag in the Citroen.

"Jane."

"Hey, Cho."

"Here." Cho handed him the burner cell phone he'd retrieved from Barlow. "Congratulations. Got him. Doing all right?"

"Thanks. Thanks for the back-up. Yeah, I'm fine."

Cho's eyes narrowed just perceptibly. "You're a damned fool. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking it was now or never with the FBI sniffing around. It worked."

"You're reckless."

"I was bait. The team was – what?- a half hour behind? How would a plan have differed?"

"It would have been safer."

"Or maybe we would have missed the chance. I would have spent another decade trying to find him."

Cho sighed and shook his head. "Better hope your luck never runs out."

Jane grinned. "Hasn't so far."

"You keep telling yourself that. Till it does. Then it'll be too late."

"It's all probabilities, Cho. Thanks for the back-up."

Lisbon returned with a shirt and put it on the shelf under his bed. A short while later one of Abbott's agents appeared and took his statement.

Then the medical staff was finally available to treat Jane. It took 20 minutes to clean and close the wounds. The cheek and chest gashes were closed with surgical glue and butterfly bandages, plus a waterproof dressing over the chest wound. This would provide the best chance of healing without scarring. The stab wound required internal as well as external stitches. Fortunately the blade cut was in line with the muscle instead of across it. At Jane's insistence, the doctor sutured it closed with pain control provided by just local anesthetic and Jane's own biofeedback skills. A waterproof dressing also protected that wound and would allow showering until the skin again provided an impermeable barrier. A half hour later, Jane had received written wound care instructions, and antibiotics and pain medication.

While Jane dressed, the doctor took Lisbon and Cho aside to brief them on the treatment and aftercare. The prophylactic antibiotics would avert any regular bacterial infections, but there was still the risk of blood borne viral infections – particularly hepatitis and HIV. Lisbon had the doctor arrange to take samples from Haffner's knife. She hoped that would clarify Jane's risks, only to be dismayed to learn it would take between two weeks and six months from exposure for an HIV infection to be detectable by a blood test; and four to six weeks for hepatitis. She gave the knife to Abbott's agent before he left. Finally, everything was done. She and Cho went to meet Jane in the treatment area.

Jane was gone. When asked, the RN said he had left through the hospital.

Lisbon's shoulders slumped. "Damn."

They walked out to the parking lot. The Citroen was indeed gone. Both got into the CBI SUV.

"Should we try to follow him, find him?"

Before she could reply her phone buzzed, signaling a text message. She read it, then read it aloud. "Lisbon, I need to think, need to get away. I just have too much to sort out right now to stay. I will be back. Sorry. Jane."

"So?"

"Cho, I think we start by respecting his wishes. He has ten years and a lot of personal stuff to work out."

"What about Red John's friends? Blake Association members? There are a lot of people who want him dead."

"I've got some ideas. And before you ask, we still have the trace on his burner phone–"

"–Which he'll probably ditch."

"I also bugged the Citroen."

"Uh, illegal?"

"Don't care. He's not going to file any formal complaints." She added a bit grimly, "I'm going to do what I can to keep him safe whether he likes it or not."

"Good."

They rode in silence the rest of the drive back to Sacramento, the day's events finally manifesting themselves in physical and emotional exhaustion. Everything else would have to wait.


	7. Chapter 7 - Redirect

**Chapter 7: Redirect**

In an attempt to keep this to a manageable length, this story continues as End of Red John / Start of a New Life - Part II. Please check it out if you want to know what happens in this post-Red John alternate universe. Thanks for reading. Comments/reviews always much appreciated.


End file.
